Uncharted Cry: Someone on the Inside
by SarcasticalCrab
Summary: Sam wasn't completely alone during those thirteen years of imprisonment, he had a friend of sorts. Someone on the inside, a guard, was helping him out, mostly with keeping him sane. But this guard isn't exactly too sane himself. We're all mad here, it seems. [Uncharted/Far Cry 3]
1. Worth

Worth

 _Was it all worth it?_

That's the only thing Sam could ask in his cold, barely lit room, laying in this hard bed underneath a blanket that tickled his skin in the worst way. The pillow was at least comfortable. The walls of the room were gray, decorated only with a medium sized hole to allow some sunlight in. There wasn't much else in the room other than a wooden chair that stood in the corner, and a small table that was by his bedside.

They should really hire some interior decorators for this place.

Sam finally woke up after what he could safely conclude was a substantial amount of time. His face felt fuzzy, due for a taming. He was initially confused, trying to figure out where he was and how got here. He adjusted his laying position, propping the pillow against the headboard and moved to rest his back against it. Upon moving, a sharp pain pulsated deep in the right side of his abdomen. He let out a small cry of pain and gently grabbed his side.

Why did his side hurt?

As his mind shook off the lingering fuzziness, his memory slowly returned to him and he started putting the pieces together.

The horrible interior could only belong to Panama, the other prisons at least had some decency to them. He was here with his little brother Nathan and his...associate...acquaintance...business partner, Rafe. They were tracking a lead they had on Avery's treasure and it led them here. They didn't intend to stay here long, a couple of weeks at most, then go free to go where the treasure led them next.

They were blissfully ignorant of the curious eyes pointed in their direction, and those eyes pried. Those eyes wanted an in and a cut.

They begrudgingly accepted the new terms of their partnership. Four hundred million divided nicely by four.

Then shots were fired, the agreement dead in the water, and they had to improvise. They had to run. They had to take matters in their own hands and find their own way out. It was going well, all things considered.

But true to their luck, it quickly went to shit.

Sam was pinned down, alarms blaring and bullets flying everywhere. He could vaguely make out the sound of his brother calling out his name, urging him to jump across. Sam took a chance and jumped into Nathan's firm grasp. He tried to pull him as quick as he could, Sam scrambling to climb. And just when he was almost there...

He felt something, multiple somethings harshly pierce his right abdomen. Then something warm came rushing out of his mouth and spilled out with a frightening force. Even barely conscious, he knew the sight scared the absolute shit out of his brother.

His body went limp and, his grip of Nate abruptly loosened, and he fell. He hit the ground...hard.

The guards that happened to be in the area saw him, and they immediately went on the attack. Beating him, kicking him, berating him, and even laughing at him.

 _I'm dying you assholes._ That was his last thought before everything went dark and quiet.

And now he's here. All caught up.

After a stint like that, a brief visit may have turned into a lifetime confinement. Sam's been to prison before, it came with the territory, but he always got out before long. But the rest of his life in prison? He couldn't even begin to fathom it. How long would it be before insanity started settling in? Sam was already starting to count the days.

Sam was quickly brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the door knob turning. Was the door unlocked the whole time? You'd think they'd learn.

The door opened and in walked a man that Sam quickly identified as a prison guard. But he doesn't recall ever seeing him before. Though that was mostly because all these guards looked the same to Sam. Same brown, butt ugly outfit, same disdain for the prisoners, same overall 'I'm an absolute dick, deal with it' attitude.

"Hola, Samuel. Como estás? The guard walked to him with a smile that was slightly off putting to Sam. His head was mostly shaved, the rest of his hair styled up in a mohawk. He seemed shorter than Sam, at least by a head and had a slight slim build to him. His skin was tan and harsh scars litter his face. His eyes, devilish and angelic at the same time, though just slightly more on the devilish side. He didn't appear to be young but not that old either, probably just a few years older than Sam at best.

In all honestly, the man's entire demeanor looked like the human manifestation of a ticking time bomb.

"I asked you a question, Samuel." The guard spoke again, traces of aggravation lacing his voice. Ah, he spoke English as well.

Sam just continued to glare at him, which he was sure was hardening by the second. He didn't know what game this guard was initiating, but he refused to play along.

But the guard didn't like that.

" _Hey, blanquito_?" The guard growled, anger already at its peak. _"_ You're in my house now. Unless you want to be confined to that bed for however long you have left to breathe, you watch yourself. If I want you to speak, you open your mouth and _fucking sing_." He ended that sentence with a growling sneer.

The guard bent down and got in Sam's face. "If you don't like it, find a motherfucker who'll care. I'm sure you'll find one here."

Sam swallowed down numerous responses that would surely get his teeth knocked down his throat, he had a bad habit of doing that unfortunately. So he grit said teeth and responded with a curt, "Fine."

"See? The guard lightly tapped his face with a smile, his anger instantly evaporating. "I'm not a hard person to talk to, huh? I'll take care of you, gatito."

The guard then sat on the edge of the bed. "Now, I'll ask one more time. How are you feeling?"

Sam sighed softly before answering. "Alright, I guess. I suppose I could be worse."

"Si, Samuel, you really could." The guard shook his head. "Let me check on your wounds."

This guard seemed like the furthest thing from a doctor, but Sam didn't want to reignite the fire. He moved the blanket down and raised his shirt up. The guard, gently and not so gently, removed the bandages to examine it. Sam also took the opportunity to get a look for himself. The bullet wounds were hastily stitched up, definitely done without any care. When the guard pressed on the area with a finger, a rush of pain flew up the right side of Sam's body. It seems like, by some miracle, the bullets didn't damage anything important but it still hurt like hell.

The guard whistled. "They really did a number on you, Samuel. Tell me, was that stunt of yours worth it?"

 _Was it worth it?_ Sam remained silent. He didn't have an answer for that yet.

The guard, aggravated again by the lack of a timely answer, roughly grabbed Sam's chin, forcing them to make direct eye contact. "Out of the kindness of my heart, I will remind you one last time. Answer me when I am speaking to you. Or would you rather I cut that tongue out if you don't need it anymore?"

The question echoed in Sam's mind, an internal debate already rampaging his thoughts. He couldn't come to a concrete answer now, but wanting to give the man something to cool his volatile temper, Sam responded, "I don't know. Not yet."

The guard let go of his chin, sitting back. "Oh, you didn't find the treasure?

There was someone else who knew?

"No. This place just gave us another step in its direction."

The guard tilted his head in curiosity. "What of the cross?"

 _What the actual hell..._

"Worthless." Sam responded.

The guard was shocked for a moment then shook his head and tsked. "Sounds like your stunt wasn't worth it, chico."

"It's still too early to tell."

"Live in the now, Samuel." The guard stood up. "Was it worth it?"

Sam sighed and acquiesced. "No. No, I guess not."

"There's your answer." The guard then turned and walked toward the door. "I'll be back with some food. With how long you've been out, you must be starving."

As if waiting for its cue, Sam's stomach growled loudly.

The guard chuckled. "I won't take long." He left, closing the door softly behind him.

Sam exhaled deeply, releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He tried to move his legs but was surprised to feel resistance. He promptly removed the blanket, ignoring his body's protest at the sudden movement, and saw that his legs had been chained to the bed.

Looks like they did learn.

He sighed and looked out the window.

The rest of his life, huh?

What a start.

* * *

 _I had this story idea festering for a few months now. I'm almost certain this was supposed to be a long and simple one-shot but then the guard in question just transformed into Vaas out of nowhere and whoops I have a full blown cross over story. It may slightly deviate from how Sam described the guard in UC4, so I hope that's forgivable =)_

 _This is going to be snapshots involving the interactions between Sam & Vaas, as well as provide some insight of what Sam experienced while in prison. Time will be jumping forward at times but I will indicate how much time has passed here and there. __Right now I have it capped at, at least ten chapters but that could change if more ideas come to mind._

 _Thanks for reading this somewhat odd crossover and let me know what you think. Please review! =)_


	2. Friend

Friend

That wasn't the last time Sam saw the guard. The guard visited him frequently while he was recovering. He cleaned his wounds with a care Sam thought was unfounded here. He'd also bring Sam painkillers, clean water and food that _clearly_ was not made in the prison's kitchen. Sam was certain that all of this was against the prison's policy to do but he decided not to question it. If he was going to be here for the rest of his life, at least he wouldn't completely wither away.

The guard even relieved Sam of his leg shackles, giving him freedom to move around or even exercise in the room if Sam felt up to it. Though he did this, trusting that Sam wouldn't try anything too smart. Admittedly, Sam was tempted, but he felt like his punishment for trying and failing would be miles worse than simply getting re-shackled. As good-natured the guard seemed to be, it could quickly change at the flip of a switch. They could go from them sharing a laugh over what was definitely a bad joke one moment, to Sam being threatened in the most graphic yet horrifyingly creative ways possible the next.

It petrified Sam to no end and that kept him grounded.

But thankfully a welcome distraction in the form of the guard divulging in his curiosity of Sam kept his mind occupied. He wanted to know where Sam came from, home life & family, what he did, and laying out the full reason of why he was here in the first place. The guard was amused by everything Sam told him, as if Sam was telling him an old time fairy tale classic.

 _Maybe that's all it was._

 ** _~UC*FC~_**

When the "doctors" had deemed Sam healthy enough, they tossed him back into his cell. His cellmates had been Nate and Rafe and with them gone, he was alone in his cell. As far as he could tell, all the other cells in the vicinity were empty as well, leaving Sam completely isolated. It almost made Sam wonder if they put him in a varied form of solitary confinement as a continuation of his punishment. Sam still felt pretty sore and he was almost certain his sutures are still at risk of being forcefully re-opened, so going outside and getting into another fight wasn't on his agenda, at least for the moment.

Thankfully he didn't have much time ponder that since the loneliness didn't last long.

The guard continued to visit him in his cell and they continued to talk, a welcome and worthwhile way to pass the time. They talked about history, politics, language & linguistics, literature, and religion. Sam learned that the guard was a huge believer of resurrection.

"We all come from somewhere and I'm not just talking about our parents. The way I see it, what you were and even how you left this world in your previous life determines what you'll be in the next."

"So who or what do you think I was in my past life to lead me here to this gorgeous place?" Sam asked.

The guard squinted his eyes in thought and hummed in thought. "One asshole of a thief, obviously."

Sam chuckled. With his lineage tracing back to Francis Drake, a man with morals and honor, he supposed things might have gotten lost in translation somewhere along the way for him to end up here in his current life. "What about you? What do you think you were in your past life?"

"Oh I don't think, I know."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

"The biggest most cunning asshole of them all." He pauses, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands behind his head. "A cat."

Sam barked out a laugh.

One thing they always circled back to was philosophy; how the world worked, why it worked the way it did, why and how people were structured the way they were.

When things were temporarily exhausted, the guard would bring him books to read. Remembering what Sam told him, a lot of the works he brought were about Henry Avery, others about Sir Francis Drake, and various other novels. When Sam was done reading, the guard implored him to relay what he read. No traces of amusement on his face this time, only fascination and curiosity.

"I see..."The guard muttered, scratching his beard. _Why does he shave it like that, Sam wondered._ "Sir Drake's blood truly courses through you, Samuel."

"Well, I didn't choose the name because it sounds pretty." Sam retorted.

The guard breathed out a laugh."I can see that, Drake, I really can."

Sometimes, the guard would join him with a book of his own and read with him. He would walk in with a chair clasped underneath his arm, drop a book in Sam's lap, take a seat by his bed side and read his own book. They wouldn't say a word, the only sounds that would be heard in the cell was the turning of their respective pages and the sounds of nature that occasionally permeated in from outside.

And when night fell, the guard would bid him goodnight with a promise that he'd be back the next morning. Then the next day they'd do it all again, it was a comfortable routine.

The insanity Sam was certain would quickly consume him seemed to be nowhere to be found. And for that, he was somewhat grateful. Unless insanity has evolved to become more knowledgeable.

Just what was this guard? An ally? A friend? A threat? _An illusion?_

Sam wasn't sure and frankly didn't want to care. If this was what insanity was like, he could definitely live with this.

Even if in actuality he was just banging his head against the wall and foaming at the mouth.


	3. Alice

Alice

Sam was still sleeping when he heard his cell door open. Having a feeling who was opening the door, he decided to wake up than try to cling to sleep. It's been roughly five months since they've become acquainted but Sam still wasn't sure how to maneuver around him. Even when Sam was certain how to act, the guard always made him think twice. The guard's patience was endless and thin, temper cool but hot, his words witty yet vulgar. It was exhausting for Sam to keep up sometimes.

So Sam decided that a strategy of winging it was best. He's rather fond of his body parts and his will to live is still pretty high despite the circumstances. As he heard the click of the cell door closing and footsteps, he rubbed the lingering sleep that remained in his eyes and hoped his mind would follow with the rest of the waking process.

 _"In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again."_

Sam recognized the phrase even though it was said entirely in Spanish. He sat up, propping his back up against the cell's wall. "What was that?"

"Alice in Wonderland, my friend." The guard dropped his chair and took a seat right at Sam's bedside, propping a leg up on the bed. "One of my favorite books of all time. I know it's a book for the little niños and niñas but I can't help but get lost in the words, the meanings, the philosophy."

"I've only read snippets of it, but I think I get the general gist of it." Sam responded.

"That can be your next assignment then." The guard tossed the book in Sam's lap. Sam took the book and tucked it under his bed for safe keeping with the others. He didn't know why this guard was risking his neck to do all this for him, but it'd be best to keep this under wraps for as long as possible, if not forever, or until he dies, whichever comes first.

The guard pushed himself back in his chair with his leg then slowly fell forward. "Are you mad, Samuel?"

Sam was taken aback. Hungry, yes, but mad, not really. "No, I've got nothing to be angry about."

The guard shook his head. "You misunderstand. Are you _mad?_ "

Sam remained adamant. "No, I'm not mad."

The guard abruptly stood up, walked in a small circle with his arms crossed for a moment before turning back to Sam.

"Are. You. _Mad_?"

Sam wasn't sure how to respond now.

"It's okay if you are. You can't help it. _We're all mad here_. I'm mad. Your brother's mad. That rich white boy you were with is mad. The other guards are _definitely_ mad."

Sam snorted. _Understatement._

"Even the little bird tweeting outside is mad." The guard crossed his arms behind his back and walked to the window.

" _You_ are mad, my dear Alice." The guard looked at him.

Sam was beginning to follow now.

"I'll answer it for you, Samuel. Yes, you are mad. Mad as me the hatter, the cat, the queen, tweedledee and tweedledum, and the caterpillar. You are madder than the leaves in the trees and the bees' knees."

 _Rhyming. He's rhyming now._

"And madder than the witness named Alice. Si, Samuel is mad. YOU are mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?" Sam finally asked.

"Oh you must be mad, dear Alice. Amigo, you have to be and you are. Or you would have never thought to come to this infernal place."

 _ **~UC*FC~**_

"Where do you stand on morality, Samuel?"

Sam's head perked up at the question. He saw the guard walking in, closing the cell door behind him. He looked out the window and saw the sun was starting to go down. After eating breakfast, Sam returned to his cell and got immersed as he usually does while reading Henry Avery, hardly aware the day had gone. His stomach growled, he was starving. He couldn't hold back a smile when the guard tossed three fresh red apples (again, definitely not from the local kitchen) on his bed with a smile and a wink.

"I don't know, I guess I never really thought about it." Sam picked up an apple and bit into it.

"Do you know how to find it?" The guard asked.

Sam shook his head. "Can't say that I do. Pretty sure I'm the furthest thing being a man with morals now."

"That's where you're wrong. It's simple." The guard crouched down by his bed. "You need to find it, fuck it, kill it then find it again, in that order."

Sam's face scrunched up in confusion. "How the hell do you do that?"

The guard shrugged, turning to sit on the ground and lean against Sam's bed, stretching his legs out. "You tell me, amigo. You're the one who's been doing it your whole life."

Sam took another bite of his apple. "How do you mean?"

"A life of thievery. To the common man you're a scoundrel and at the bottom of society. But in the right eyes, you are noble, you can become -no- you _are_ a legend. A life of thievery is how you survive. It's how your enemies in that line of work survive. Other than getting rich, surviving is your only modus operandi. Where do your morals lie when it's been found, thoroughly fucked, and dead in the water? You have to find it again."

The guard clasped his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. " _Everything's got a moral_ , _Samuel,_ _if only you can find it_."

Sam guessed that was another quote from Alice in Wonderland. Ever since the guard handed him the book, he had been spouting quotes left and right in the last couple of days. He was tempted to put his book on Henry Avery down to read it. He leaned over and reached down under his bed to retrieve the book and pulled it out to get a closer look. It didn't _seem_ to be anything special, but Sam presumed that he shouldn't judge a book by its cover. And he's saying that unironically of course.

"You must _really_ love this book." Sam muttered out loud. With an internal promise to pick up from where he left off on Henry Avery, he flipped the book open.

"You bet your ass, I do." The guard quipped. "Now pipe down, it's been a long day. Getting those apples weren't easy."

* * *

This chapter probably doesn't make too much sense but Vaas being a fan of and quoting Alice in Wonderland was an idea I couldn't let go. Either way I hoped you enjoyed it. Please review! =)


	4. Chance

Chance

"That was a rough gamble, Samuel."

Sam looked up and saw the guard standing outside his cell with an unreadable look on his face. The other day, Sam had a stroke of bad luck and lost his last pack of cigarettes. The nicotine withdrawal had already settled deep within him. His shakes were noticeable.

"Yeah." Was all he said, looking back down at the ground Another gamble down the drain.

A silence fell between them, Sam thought the guard had left. Then he heard his cell door opening.

"Vamanos, Samuel. I can get you more cigarettes."

Sam's head whipped up, almost a little too quick. No, this was too good to be true. This was the nicotine withdrawal giving him false hope. His own thoughts were mocking him now.

The guard banged his fist harshly on the cell bars, yanking Sam out of his thoughts.

"I don't like repeating myself, Samuel. Get your ass up and move."

Sam had a feeling deep in his gut that this was a bad idea. But not listening to the command of the guard wasn't going to yield him pleasurable results either. He stood up and cracked his back and walked to the door, just as the guard opened it. Once he stepped out he felt something collide with his jaw, knocking him to the ground.

"Did you not hear me? Did you forget how your legs move? I will gladly tear them off if you cannot use them, Samuel!"

That was more than enough to get Sam back on his feet. Before he could completely gather his bearings, he was shoved harshly into the cell bars directly in front of him. The guard roughly grabbed his arms and Sam went limp, certain that the guard would gladly follow through with his promise if he tried to struggle, starting off with his arms. He felt the cold metal grasp of the handcuffs clasp onto his wrist. Too tight, as usual. His shoulder could easily pop out with the right move.

The guard grabbed him and growled into his ear. "You go where I tell you." The guard then shoved him forward, silently instructing him to continue in that direction. He instructed Sam down the hall, through a corridor and up some stairs. They then reached the outside, the hot sun immediately bearing down on Sam.

They were approaching a group of other guards who trying to contain the chaos that were the prisoners. The guard roughly grabbed Sam's arm and neck to stop him. The guard had a quick conversation with the others and they laughed. The Spanish was spoken almost too quick for Sam to pick up on but he managed to get the gist of it.

"Little kitten was shaking in his cell so I'm going to give him something to really shake about."

The guard then shoved Sam forward, so forcefully, his knees nearly buckled from the sudden shove. But Sam willed himself to stay upright and keep moving. He did like his legs after all.

After a few more turns and a descent down some stairs, the controlled chaos of the prison could no longer be heard. There was nothing but deafening silence. No dripping water, no squeaks from the rats, nothing.

The guard instructed him to make another right and then to stop at a door at the end of the corridor.

"In there?" Sam dared to ask.

"Si." The guard's voice was noticeably softer, lacking the harshness and venom it was dripping with just moments before.

The guard opened the door and gently grabbed Sam's arm, pulling him inside. Once they were in, the guard looked around then closed the door behind them.

Sam heard the guard's footsteps move away from him before hearing a small click. The room was now illuminated by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. There wasn't much decor in the room, just a wooden table with two chairs standing at its opposite ends. There was a hole in the wall, letting some light in.

"Sorry about that, amigo." The guard walked back over, unlocked the cuffs and removed them. "Got to give the boys a show. Can't let them see I have a soft spot."

Sam looked around as he rubbed his wrists to alleviate the pain. "It's fine."

"Now then." The guard took a seat at the table, pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and waved them at Sam "These are yours Samuel, but you have to earn them first." The guard put the box back in his pocket then leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. "Take a seat."

Sam quickly moved to sit in his chair at the opposite end without saying a word.

"I've heard you say that you are a man of fortune, Samuel. But are you truly a man of chance?"

Sam leaned forward, rested his arms on the table, and carefully asked, "Is there a difference between the two?"

"Chance, Samuel, is what drives us, what drives everything in this world. You can choose to pursue whatever you wish, in your case, fortune. But it is chance that writes the ending for you."

The guard leaned forward, mirroring Sam's sitting position. "Look at you. You made a choice to seek fortune, to come here, to search for your trinkets and toys. But it is chance that is keeping you here."

The guard reached back and pulled something out of his pocket. It landed with a dull thud, right on the center of the table. Sam's stomach nearly fell to and through the ground at the sight of the object, a gun.

"The ultimate game of chance, no? Your odds are one out of six in this case, pretty good odds. I like those odds. Those are some good fuckingodds." The guard grabbed the gun and spun the cylinder. "But the problem is, you never know where that one..." The guard placed the muzzle against his head and pulled the trigger.

Click.

"...is lurking."

Sam wanted to leave. Run out of here, scream to the sky, and vehemently deny it later. He hoped this would be a hallucination, a bad dream caused by the nicotine withdrawal.

The thudding of his heart in his chest and the beads of sweat that cascaded down his face told him that this was all real. His internal pleading to wake up were needless. He already was.

There was something that kept him glued to his chair. Glued to the guard. His mind was both telling him to leave and not to move single muscle. To look away from the guard but not to let him out of his sight. Stay silent but absolutely tear into him with every word in the English and Spanish language.

"But the power of chance isn't absolute. There's still choice. And the thing about choice is that it can override anything, even all powerful chance." The guard spun the cylinder once more. He placed the muzzle against his head and pulled the trigger.

Click.

"It's the weak, the cowardly that leave it all up to chance. The ones that let life run its course with any sense of control, laissez-faire is the song they sing. Laissez-faire has got to be one of the worst qualities to exist in man, amigo. It makes me fucking sick to my stomach."

The guard spun the cylinder, raised the gun and placed the muzzle against his head. "I fucking hate that attitude, Samuel. Makes me want to put a bullet through my own fucking skull." The guard laughed as he pulled the trigger. Click.

Something broke through. "You've been pretty lax with letting chance guide you so far."

The glare the guard shot Sam was akin to a bullet going straight into him.

"Are you calling me weak, Samuel?" The guard stood up and banged his hands on the table. "Do I look like the type of man to let chance guide me?! This is all my volition!"

The guard immediately put the muzzle of the gun in his own mouth, never breaking eye contact with Sam. Click.

Holy shit...

"Are you weak, Samuel?"

Sam couldn't find the will to answer.

"Oh the little kitten's got his own tongue. Oh, oh! It's shaking again!" The guard laughed. He spun the cylinder and pointed the gun at Sam, right at his head.

"Is the little kitten weak?"

Sam took a deep breath and tried to match the intense glare of the man standing above him was giving him. Show no fear. He steeled himself, ready to accept death if it decided to come to him now. With a firm and steady voice, he responded, "No."

Click.

Sam resisted the urge to breathe out a sigh of relief. I'm not a little kitten either.

"And now it's down to you." The guard sat back down, placed the gun on the table, sliding it over to Sam.

Sam reached forward and grabbed the gun. He stared at it before spinning the cylinder. Once, twice, three times.

"So now. Tell me Samuel, will you take the option of choice...or leave it all up to chance?"

Sam didn't think for too long before he made his decision. He stood up and walked over to The Guard, pointing the gun at his head.

"That's it Samuel." The guard grabbed the muzzle of the gun, placing it firmly against his head." Let's go shoot me. Shoot me!" He fell to his knees at Sam's feet, now moving the gun to chest, right over his heart. "Fucking shoot me! Put me out of my misery! Shoot. ME!"

Sam stood firm and pulled the trigger, bracing himself for the resounding bang that would likely declare him the winner of this twisted game.

Click.

But all that filled the air was a soft click.

The guard laughed and stood up. He gently grabbed the gun out of Sam's hand before tucking it away in its holder. He then reached into his pocket and presented the bullet that should have been loaded in the gun but for some reason, never was.

Sam placed the gun on the table and pretty much fell onto the chair, his body heavy. He didn't know whether to feel relieved that there was never any real danger or pissed that he had been played, hard.

The guard continued to laugh, picking up the gun and tucking it in its holster."The gun was never loaded, amigo. But I can see it now! I can fucking see it! You are not only a man of fortune, but a man of chance. I like that, Samuel. I can believe in that. I support that."

The guard pulled out the box of cigarettes, opened it and handed one to Sam, leaving the box on the table. Sam took it, placed it in his mouth and reached into his pocket to pull out his lighter, only to groan when he realized he may have lost it in their earlier scuffle.

The guard smiled and reached into another pocket, pulling out a lighter,Sam's lighter, and lit his cigarette for him.

"Thanks." Sam said.

The guard nodded and placed the lighter on the table then moved to stand at the window, staring out, watching god knows what.

Sam had a feeling he was waiting for him to finish and tried to finish the cigarette as quickly as possible, so not to keep him waiting for too long. He inhaled little too quick however and the sudden influx of smoke sent him into a harsh coughing fit.

"No need to swallow without chewing, amigo. Take as much time as you need. You've earned it."

Sam nodded and took a long, slow and deep drag of his cigarette. He held it in for a moment then slowly let it out, feeling every last bit of his stress leaving him.


	5. Cloud

Cloud

It was close to lock down, so Sam was on his way back to his cell to begrudgingly retire for the day. Even with the amount of energy he expended today by working out and sneaking off to climb, he still felt like he had a lot of energy to spare. Maybe he could convince the guard to let him out beyond lock down to jog around for bit. If he had someone on the inside, he might as well use the power to some degree. It'd be worth a shot, as long as he asked nicely.

When Sam got to the cell, he noticed the door was slightly open. He looked in and saw the guard sitting on his bed, muttering to himself. He quietly pushed the door to let himself in then closed it. At the sound of the door clinking shut, the guard stopped his muttering and looked up. He smiled and nodded at Sam, as a notion of greeting. Casual.

Like it was no big deal. Like none of this was a big deal. Right.

"Did I ever tell you how I got here, amigo?" The guard stood up off the bed and moved to the wall, leaning against it and crossing his arms. He stared at Sam and Sam hoped that he wouldn't melt from the heat of the glare.

Now that Sam thought about it, he didn't know anything about this guy; where he came from, what he's about, for crying out loud, he doesn't even know his name. For all Sam knew, this guy could be a complete psychopath and based on their interactions, Sam's stance on him probably isn't too far off the mark. Nice guy, funny too, but definitely a few screws loose.

"I don't know that much about you, honestly." Sam responded, walking to sit at the edge of his bed, looking at the guard. "You don't really come up as a topic in our conversations. Then I again, I suppose I should have asked about you earlier." Sam shrugged.

The guard sighed and looked down. "It was just me and my sister, Citra, way back when; we were keeping each other alive. Things were getting rough but we were hanging in there, determined to survive. She would do anything for me and I would do anything for her."

The guard removed himself from the wall and briefly paced the cell. "Then one day, she pulls me aside and explains there is only one thing that would make her happy. Make her the happiest chica on earth."

"What was that?" Sam asked tentatively.

"She wanted me to kill for her, amigo. And me being a good brother, a good big brother, I wanted to do it. I did it." The guard barked out a laugh. "I fucking did it!"

Sam involuntarily flinched. Though he was getting good at detecting the cues for them, Sam felt that he may never get used to those outbursts.

"So I find this guy on the streets. He was already oddly complacent with me, despite not really knowing who I was, but that just made things easier. He was this random piece of shit so I doubt he's missed anyway, I might have done the world a justice by getting rid of him. So for his sins, I fucking skinned him down to his bones."

Sam involuntarily shuddered at the visual.

"My sister was so happy, so so fucking happy and that made me happy. She left then came back with three more men, one of them an old friend of hers. He's had a big hard on for her for the longest time. I slit the throat of one and she took care of the third one. Gave him the impression that she was going down on him, then promptly castrated him."

"Jesus…" Sam muttered. "What happened to the other guy?"

The guard tsked. "This guy, his skin as white as snow, I even named him Snow White. I'll admit I took a liking to him, I saw a lot of me in him. But there was something so deliciously pure about him and I figured the world could use some more purity. So I let him go unscathed. If I ever run into him again, I do owe him an apology for the trauma."

How nice of you.

"While the castrated guy was screaming, living out the rest of his life in agony, my sister pushes me down to the floor and says I'm going to make a warrior out of you."

The guard walked to Sam's bed and crouched in front him, placing his arms on Sam's thighs and resting his head on them. He stared up at Sam, the look in his eyes shades cooler than the one he gave him just moments ago. It was peaceful, almost comforting.

He almost looks like a god damn puppy. But I'm sure he'd bite my hand off if I tried to pet him, even as a joke.

"Next thing you know the bitch takes off her top and rolls up her skirt, chanting repeatedly that she would make a warrior out of me, she would make a warrior out of me..."

The guard rolled his eyes. "I was high on the euphoria, the adrenaline, and yes, the drugs."

Sam stifled a snicker. Of course drugs were involved.

"I just gave in. There she is bouncing, laughing, talking; just having the time of her life and feeling herself, and I didn't give a shit about anything else. I only cared about feeling good, and shit...man, I was feeling good." The guard patted Sam's thighs and fell back on his haunches, sitting on the ground with his legs crossed.

Of course, drugs were a hell of a thing.

"Then the cops burst in, our neighbors having heard the screams. That, or Snow White squealed. They immediately hauled me away because I was an adult, and she was just shy of legal. It's a cruel, cruel world, my friend."

Sam didn't need to hear that twice.

"She was sent to government care and I was sent to where the government couldn't give a shit. They figured a good clean jail was too good for me, no no no. They put me in here. Sentenced for the rest of my life, unless it was decided otherwise."

"I tried to play the game. Be a good little boy, take my beatings well and maybe be out of here before my bones turn to dust." The guard heaved out a laugh that even disturbed the birds chirping outside.

"But instead of letting me out, the fucking warden, that motherfucker, Hoyt, keeps me fucking chained me to this place. Because he likes me, I amuse him. What I wouldn't give to stick one of those rusted kitchen knives into that smug fucking face of his. See how that shit amuses him."

Sam looked at the guard pensively. Could this guard be just as much of prisoner as he was?

"No, no, instead of letting me go, he puts me in charge of all these fucks and you. YOU. Someone I actually fucking respect. Someone who had the fucking balls to come here and the balls to try to leave this shit hole. I got to keep you contained here like a dog and make your life miserable for as long as you breathe."

Sam didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure his stunned silence was out of debilitating fear or morbid astonishment.

The guard stood up paced the cell again. "I had my head up in the clouds, WAY up in the fucking sky. I thought I was really going to be warrior and rule the world." He chuckled. "But amigo. Down here..." The guard bent down and grabbed a fistful of dirt and raised it above him. He opened his fist and let the dirt slowly seep out. "Down here...I hit the ground"

The guard stood up straight, straightened out his clothes and walked to the cell door.

"All this treasure business, vato? You better cling to it. It's the only thing keeping you sane. You may have your head in the clouds but you're still grounded, you have your roots. It's keeping you tough and immalleable. Don't you ever give up on this life. Because I would hate for you to hit the ground."

"I think it can be argued that I've already hit the ground." Sam looked down and rubbed his stomach, the wound a stern reminder of where his dream led him.

The guard scoffed and laughed. "Samuel, Samuel. A couple of bullets to the stomach is nothing compared to a marriage to this place. Insanity, amigo? You can't make that your mate."

The guard opened the door and stepped out. He closed the door with a solid click. Before leaving, he turned and looked at Sam through the bars. He flashed Sam a cheshire grin so wide and devious that it would even disturb the cat who trademarked it. "I'd hate for that wonderful mind of yours to go to waste, Samuel. Don't lose your head, yeah?"

The guard saluted him then walked down the hall, into the darkness, whistling a merry tune.

Sam waited until he couldn't hear those footsteps anymore before letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Even after knowing him for some years, and getting more or less used to his mannerisms, Sam still didn't know what to make of him. As far as he could tell, he was more or less on his good side. And if he was right, he wanted to keep it that way for as long as humanly possible.

But now he seemed to have a slightly better understanding of the guard. Sam may be the prisoner and the guard, the authority and his superior, but they may be a bit more similar than he thought. At the very least, they were both here against their will.

Sam shook his head and laughed softly to himself. He laid back, his body now calling for the sleep it claimed it didn't want yet. He had a lot more to think about tonight and for days to come. Though Sam was already certain about one thing.

That guard's sinister grin was going to haunt his dreams.

* * *

Some more references to Far Cry 3 here. Vaas killed some people but spared one, "Snow White"...  
Thanks for reading and please review! =)


	6. Family

Family

The guard has gone missing, that is what Sam finally realized. Usually he was lurking somewhere in the corner, in the darkness. No matter where Sam was, the guard was always near him. Watching, smiling, whistling, laughing as he beat a prisoner senseless for not saying good morning. Always there, observing.

Sam felt empty without those stares.

It's been a solid four months since Sam last saw him. He was tempted to ask one of the guards where he was, but then realized he STILL never got the guy's name. And with the their infamously short tempers, his curiosity would have been mistaken for a threat and that would get his eyes knocked to the back of his head.

Instead he carried on with his prisoner life, making friends (or trying to), staying in shape and staying sharp. Although, he couldn't help but furiously debate with his mind on various topics, the main one being whether or not he had finally gone insane, or was actually insane the whole time.

Was the guard an illusion that his brain just gave up on?

His brother. Was he okay? Is he still pursuing the treasure? Did he give up? Was he coming back for him?

Did his brother even care?

His brother. His family, the last of his family. His _only_ family.

He and Nate didn't have the greatest of starts in life. They didn't get to choose how they started but they sure as hell turned it around as best they could.

Sam now knew and understood that they didn't leave it up to chance to guide them through the rest. They took life by the reigns and carved their own path. Sure they're playing it by ear, but the position they're in, at least in Sam's case, is miles better than where where they were before they nosedived into this life.

Hell, he at least had a roof over his head and food to eat. No worries about rent or bills. It was better than nothing.

As for Nate, anything is better than Saint Francis.

Sam sighed, stood up and left his cell, heading for the courtyard. As soon as he stepped out, he immediately spotted him. The guard was by himself, leaning against the wall, smoking, occasionally making smoke rings. He looked oddly...content.

Sam placed his hands in his pockets and walked up to him. "Hey uh...boss?" He figured this would be the safest and most respectful way to address him without getting his head caved in.

Or getting skinned as far as he was concerned.

The guard chuckled a little too darkly at the term of addressment. "Close enough." He said with a smile. "How can I help you on this fine day, Samuel?"

"I was hoping I could talk to you. You haven't been around lately and I'm going a little stir-crazy all by myself."

Sam had grown to accept his fascination with this guard. As crazy and unstable as he appeared (though it was pretty much confirmed fact that he was crazy and unstable), the man had a way with words. A vulgar philosopher is what Sam nicknamed him. He could probably deconstruct even the most complex works, teach you about its deepest meanings all while putting on a show, making sure you would never forget it. He could be a perfect fit for catholic school. He would just need to work on the cursing.

Most importantly, this guard was one of the few things keeping him steady. He could only crack jokes (often lewd ones), smoke cigarettes, and work out for only so many times in a row. Hell, even reading was starting to leave him restless even if it was about Henry Avery. He needed some sort of mental stimulation from someone or something. Even if this guard turned out be a friend that only existed in his mind.

"Oh, do you miss me, mi amor?" The guard purred. He caressed Sam's cheek softly then gently cupping it.

As much as Sam wanted to (and he REALLY wanted to) he didn't dare back away from the touch.

The guard's patented cheshire grin filled his face and lightly slapped Sam's cheek with a laugh. "Very well, let's go chat, my friend."

They went to the room where they had they held their game of chance and each took a seat at the table. This room, with how isolated it was, became a personal getaway for the both of them. People were beginning to fill up the cells around Sam so it was becoming a risk for both of them to be around each other so much. A guard frequenting a prisoner's cell wasn't going to go unnoticed. It might be mocked, but definitely not unnoticed.

"So what's on your mind?" The guard asked, blowing smoke out of his mouth.

"First off, where have you been? You're usually all over the place and you've been a ghost these days."

"Business, amigo. But I appreciate you being worried about me. Don't get a lot of that these days."

Sam smiled briefly before it dropped. The guard picked up on the sudden change of emotion.

"My well-being isn't the only thing on your mind. Well, spit it out Samuel."

"I've been thinking about my brother a lot lately."

"Nathan was his name?"

"Yeah." Sam responded. "Been wondering where he is, if he's okay. When he's coming back to get me. If he's coming back that is. It's been over two years now, almost three I think."

The guard quirked an eyebrow in curiosity. "Closer to four, amigo." The guard leaned back in his chair. "You think he left you here to rot?"

"Maybe. Could be trying to get the treasure for himself. Maybe him and Rafe were secretly working together this whole time and planned to stiff me at the end. Maybe my death was a blessing for them."

Sam was unconsciously clenching his fist, the guard, not used to seeing the emotion of pure rage radiate from the man, couldn't help but be amused. Amused, but concerned.

The guard sighed, dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. He then stood up and walked over to Sam. "Samuel, you are angry. I understand and feel that." The guard bent down beside him. "Like my sister, the next time I see her," The guard made a gun motion with his fingers and whistled as he directed it at his own head. "I'm going to drive a bullet right into that fucking head of hers."

"But as for you and your brother, I'm almost sure your name has been stricken from the record, amigo. He may be certain that you passed and has since accepted it and moved on. No fault of his own. You pissed off a lot of people with that stunt of yours. They want to make sure you don't leave and that no one is coming for you."

The guard stood back up and went to sit on the edge of the table looking directly at Sam.

"I know you would do anything for your brother and he would do anything for you. If he had the power, I'm sure he would have protected you. Maybe even take your spot so you could walk free instead. But I'm sure deep down inside, you're happy you took the bullet for your baby brother. What the fuck are we without family, huh? Family is what defines us, and if there's one thing that's consistent in man, is that we fight for what defines us."

He was right. Sam was grateful that his brother managed to escape mostly unscathed and carry on the Drake legacy. If there was anyone he needed this rejuvenation of life more, it was Nate. Nate had to deal with the suicide of their mother, their father giving them up, and years of hell at Saint Francis, while Sam managed to live life and more or less get away from all of that.

"That's what loved ones do. They push you to ask the big questions and search your soul for the answer. Will it be me or them? Them or me? _Me? Or? Them?"_ He paused. "We may not find an answer that will make us happy, but we chill, we have to. It's choice and chance again, amigo. Maybe your brother will come back for you. Or maybe you choose to find that golden opportunity and carve your own path."

"Wouldn't waiting for chance make me weak?"

The guard chuckled. "When your choices are zero and chance is all you have, that is when you are at your strongest. True strength is measured by how you mold the ending. If you just let it be, you never deserved a chance in the first place."

Sam nodded. While that slightly negated what he said during their game, it still made a fair amount of sense. Kind of. At least his thoughts were calmer and he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Any resentment he was growing for his brother had shrunk considerably.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Ask away."

"What's your name? You've never told me it."

The guard sighed. "My name is not something I can tell easily. If the wrong people know my true identity, especially the head asshole in charge here, any day could be the last day you ever see me. I won't like that and I can guarantee you won't like that."

"Why?"

The guard fell silent, his face immediately scrunching up in anger. And Sam wondered if that question was incidentally the last word he would ever say.

"Lemme tell you something about this warden, amigo. The warden, Hoyt, there's one thing he likes and one thing he hates. He likes making money and he hates losing money. Let's just say I made that _twisted_ fuck a lot of money and then made him lose a lot of fucking money. It's a miracle he doesn't recognize my face or he would have gutted me by now instead of giving me this gig."

 _The plot thickens with this guy._ "Well it could just be a nickname, your last name, hell even just a letter. I need something. Calling you 'the guard' is proving to be exhausting, especially if I'm set to be here for the rest of my life."

The guard titled his head and pursed his lips in thought. He looked at Sam pensively then said, "Montenegro. That is my last name. My _true_ last name."

Not much but it was enough. "Montenegro." Sam said to himself. It rolled off the tongue smooth enough.

"Keep that name between us and to yourself, and we won't have any problems, tú entiendes?"

"It'll be like you never told me." Sam responded.

He smiled. "My first name, however, you hit it pretty close with boss, Samuel."

"So...Boss Montenegro then?"

Montenegro let out a hearty laugh, stood up and walked to the door.

"Close enough, amigo." He left the room, leaving Sam alone in the darkness.


	7. Paralysis

Paralysis

There are few things on Earth that could keep Samuel Drake down and he was proud to say that a handful of bullets wasn't on that list.

But this? This was the last thing he expected to knock him down for the count.

How it spread or how it even got here to begin with was a bit of a mystery. The running theory was a guard was a carrying it and while he was beating a prisoner (the usual), he decided to spit on him for good measure.

Good measure indeed.

It ran rampant from there; one turned to three, three turned to ten, and quickly turned to twenty and beyond. Since this was a picture perfect environment, it spread like wildfire. And because health care isn't exactly up to code, it claimed two lives and was dangerously close to claiming more.

Sam thought highly of his immune system. He could count on one hand how many times he's been sick in his lifetime. Back then, as Nate's primary caretaker, getting sick was NOT an option and his body seemed to be in tune with that notion. Even during the most grave breakouts, Sam's health would usually remain steadfast, at worst a cough here and a sniffle there. So when the flu was at his doorstep, Sam simply said, _bring it on._

Needless to say, he regrets eagerly accepting that challenge.

It was day three (probably) into his sickness and Sam couldn't recall a moment where he ever felt this terrible. Nicotine withdrawal didn't hold a candle to this. He would even gladly take being shot all over again than enduring this. While he survived the last one, getting shot in the right spot would at least grant him quick relief and eternal sleep. Right now, he couldn't take the temptation that was the sweet release of death over him any longer.

Then again, it could just be the fever talking.

Sam laid in bed in his cell, almost curled up in a ball. He was shivering despite feeling like his body was on fire. His body ached and his head throbbed, with it, the distinct worry that it was going to split in two if it somehow got impossibly worse. His stomach churned endlessly despite not having anything of worth in there. Due to his sore throat, food was even more unappealing than usual. Anything he ate or drank wound up coming back up later and that irritated his throat beyond reason. Sam threw up so much, he wondered if his body was reacting to his poor food decisions from years ago.

 _Fine then,_ Sam acquiesced _, maybe burritos from that shady food stand at 4am wasn't such a good idea after all._

Even though he came to peace with that fact, Sam remained fully submerged in his misery.

 **~UF~FC~**

Sam was brought out of his restless slumber by the sound of his cell door opening. It was opened with some deliberation to keep the sound as minimal as possible and it was closed with a barely audible clink. Sam appreciated that, but the sound was still nails on a chalkboard for him, enough to coax a whimper out of him.

 _Death, is that you finally? Get me outta here..._

Sam heard the footsteps approaching and then felt his bed dip slightly. "I know Samuel." A voice whispered. His mind, even in its foggy state, recognized the voice; it was familiar, friendly.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but was softly shushed and felt a comforting cold hand rub his head.

"No need for words, hermano. Save your strength."

 _Hermano...brother..._

Sam opened his eyes to get a better look at the figure. His vision was blurry.

"Na...than...?" Sam croaked out. His throat was as dry as a desert, he wouldn't be surprised if a puff of sand came out of his mouth.

Montenegro was slightly taken aback but realized that the high fever was likely messing with his mind. No need to get angry, for now. "If you want it to be, then sure."

"Now since you're the only one here I give a shit about, I got you some goodies. You should be grateful, I was going to keep this for myself just in case I got infected with this fucking disease too."

Sam coughed.

"I couldn't get a hold of the name brand stuff you're probably familiar with, but thankfully Hoyt has good connections. I tested this for myself and thankfully the side effects are minimal. But you're probably going to be tripping balls, Samuel. Are you prepared for that?"

"Whatever you say, little brother..."

 _How bad could it possibly be, bring...it...on..._

Montenegro nodded and reached into the bag he had smuggled in and pulled out two medicine bottles and a bottle of water. He shook out two pills from one bottle and one pill from the second. He stood up and bent over, hooking his arms under Sam's armpits in order to get him to sit up straight.

"I need to stop feeding you, you're getting too fucking heavy." Montenegro remarked. He moved Sam to lean against the wall. "Now open up and stuck your tongue out."

Sam vaguely heard the request and opened his mouth. Montenegro placed three pills on his tongue and instructed him to put his tongue back in. He then opened the water bottle and supported Sam's head as he drank it.

Though he was probably going to regret it one way or another later, Sam downed the bottle of water, the coolness soothing and aggravating his dry, irritated throat.

Once the bottle was empty, Montenegro tossed it aside and helped Sam lay back down. "Good, now sleep. I'll check on you in a bit. Good luck, Samuel."

"Thanks...Nathan..."

Montenegro chuckled. "Anytime, hermano."

Sam could already feel himself fading away.

 _ **~UF~FC~**_

 _I really need to stop saying "bring it on" don't I?_

His dreams, if he could even call them that, were all over the place.

His first one was scary enough. He had switched places with his brother. Instead of Sam being the one being shot, Nate had been in his place. Sam's ultimate nightmare was anything happening to his little brother. Sure Sam himself was still alive in prison, almost five years after that event, but the possibility of death still loomed near. Nate didn't exactly leave friends behind in this place.

 _Please god no..._

Sam's eyes flew open as he woke up, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.

Or so he thought.

 _ **~UC~FC~**_

Sam couldn't move. His mind was awake, frantically sending commands, but his body was asleep, unable to answer. He wasn't even sure he was breathing. Though it happened rarely, he hated when he had these episodes. He hoped it wouldn't be too bad this time.

He heard his cell door opening, probably just Montenegro coming to check on him.

But the person who entered the cell wasn't Montenegro, quite possibly the furthest thing from him. It was a woman. She wasn't dressed in a prison uniform, so she wasn't a guard. Her uniform consisted of a midriff shirt and a short mini skirt with no shoes. She looked familiar...

He thought back to a conversation he had with Montenegro. His sister, Citra, had come up again as a topic of conversation again.

 _"You want to see what she looks like?" Montenegro didn't wait for answer and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a polaroid and handed it to Sam. He took it and looked at it, studying the image._

 _They looked similar enough, even down to the hairstyle. She dressed a little more provocatively than most girls her age would._

 _"Hot piece of ass, huh?"_

 _Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I guess. But from what you tell me, she'd probably eat me alive. In more ways than one of course."_

 _Montenegro laughed loudly. "This is why I like you Samuel. You make me laugh. Everything's gotta be so serious here. You're my breath of fresh air."_

So why was she here now? _How_ was she here now?

"You've met my brother. He's the only one who'd do this to you."

 _"Do what?"_

Sam thought it but his mouth didn't pick up and follow through. Aw hell, that's right. He can't talk when this happens too.

 _"Just lovely."_

"He's probably painted me as some monster, hasn't he?" Citra said, walking closer to Sam.

 _"She probably IS a monster..."_

"You have to believe me! I didn't tell him to do anything! He's the one who killed those people, he made the decision! He didn't need to do that for me, he had already won my heart."

 _"Damn that accent..."_

"I thought he was the one...but he failed me. He had so much potential...but he disappointed me."

Citra made direct eye contact with him and the chill that went through Sam's body was enough to break his body free of this twisted reverie. He immediately sat up, moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

"But another man has my attention now. And he is twice the man my brother could ever be."

But even though, he remained entranced, hypnotized by Citra's words.

Citra walked close to him, until she was standing directly in front of him. "You, Samuel. You are strong...powerful. These hands are stained with blood..." She took one of his hands and cupped it against her own cheek, almost lovingly.

"You live for the fight and every man you have killed deserved to die by your hand." She moved forward, straddling him and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. She leaned forward to his ear and whispered, "Do you know what you are, Samuel?"

"Tell me what I am."

She kissed his neck then bit it roughly, blood had definitely been drawn. "You are a warrior Samuel." She continued with her ministrations. Sam wrapped his arms around her waist, only now realizing that she was topless, her chest eloquently painted with simple yet intricate patterns.

Before he closed his eyes in complete ecstasy, Sam caught a glimpse of a lifeless body that sat against the wall with a pool of blood underneath it. The body had a knife protruding from its chest. Sam could see that its eyes were still open, though lifeless.

Then that body became familiar. The prison uniform, that hairstyle, those eyes. Those deranged, tranquil eyes.

Sam was certain there were a million and one things wrong with this scenario, but he felt too good to care.

Then those familiar, dull, angelically devilish eyes, darted right at Sam.

 _ **~UF~FC~**_

Sam woke up with a start. When he felt cold concrete against his back and legs, he realized that he wasn't in his bed but on the floor, sitting against the wall.

"How did I end up here?" Sam asked to himself.

A groan caught his attention and he looked around. He saw Nathan also sitting against the wall, knees drawn up, his head down, resting on his arms.

"Nathan?" Sam scrambled over to him. "Are you okay?"

Nathan didn't respond, didn't even lift his head.

"What's wrong, are you hurt? Wh-"

"That was a rough gamble, Nathan."

Sam turned his head and saw Montenegro standing outside the cell, looking in with a gaze of amusement mixed with pity.

 _Déjà vu..._

"Vamanos, Nathan. I can get you more cigarettes."

 _But Nathan doesn't smoke..._

Then it hit Sam. "Oh no." He muttered. "Nathan, don't!"

But when Sam blinked, Nate was already in handcuffs, being led down the hall.

Sam followed the pair, trying in vain to speak to Nate; telling him to somehow fight back against this. When that failed, he then directed his efforts to Montenegro, pleading with him to stop. But that didn't fare any better. He followed them into the room and leaned against the wall.

"Okay, okay. It'll just be like last time. He doesn't load the gun, they're both laughing about it then he'll treat his newly onset hypertension with some cigarettes. Everyone goes home alive and safe."

Sam watched the scene unfold, just as he remembered it, waiting with baited breathe as each agonizing soft click went by.

"So now. Tell me Nathan, will you take the option of choice...or leave it all up to chance?"

Sam watched as Nathan grabbed the gun, got up and walked to Montenegro, pointing the gun at him.

Sam closed his eyes, waiting to hear the resulting click. But what filled the air of the room was a loud bang. He immediately opened his eyes to see Montenegro's body hit the ground.

Nathan's face was expressionless as he dropped the smoking gun on the table. After a few seconds, he turned and made his way to the door.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Sam's attention and saw that Montenegro was now standing up, perfectly fine, not a spot of blood on his chest.

 _The hell...?_

"Peek-a-boo motherfucker." Montenegro pulled out a gun and pointed it at Nate's head.

 _He had another gun?!_

"Nathan!" Sam yelled out.

Having apparently heard Sam's warning, Nate turned around but it was too late. Montenegro had pulled the trigger and the bullet went right into Nate's skull. A quick, merciful death.

Sam's legs buckled before he fell to his knees. He stared into Nate's eyes which were darkening as the life literally bled out of him.

"Oh! You showed so much promise, Nathan. So much fucking promise! Here you are, trapped in the boxes of life like a fucking rat. And the thing is, I _did not_ bring you here. You walked in here by your own goddamn self! A real fucking shame, truly. This how the great Drake legacy ends."

Montenegro reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an object..and Sam couldn't believe it.

It was Nate's lighter, _his_ lighter and embedded into it was the bullet from earlier.

Montenegro tossed it in the air and caught it. He shook his head and looked at Nate's body.

"By the way, this lighter fucking sucks."

Sam screamed.

 _ **~UF~FC~**_

Sam opened his eyes. He was back home again. In his cell.

And once again, he couldn't move _. God damn sleep paralysis._

He surveyed his surroundings. So far, everything looked fine, nothing was out of place.

"Ah, you're awake." Montenegro said, making his way to Sam. "I was a bit worried I gave you too big a dosage. Maybe that extra pill wasn't needed. If it weren't for your muttering, people might have thought the flu killed you too."

Sam, just like before, couldn't talk. And because of what happened before, he wasn't sure if he was even in the right universe.

"What's the matter?"Montenegro asked, leaning forward, looking into Sam's eyes.

Sam knew how this went. Demons, aliens, the corpse of Henry Avery, he was waiting for the jump that would force feeling back to his body. He was expecting Montenegro's face to start melting or some other ridiculous nonsense.

"Samuel, talk to me!"

Or maybe he was in the right universe. Sam blinked repeatedly in an attempt to communicate.

 _S-O-S_

 _S-I-C-P-A-R-V-I-S-M-A-G-N-A_

"What the fuck is going on with you? Talk to me!"

Crap. Montenegro wasn't versed in Morse code. If Montenegro was getting angry at him, Sam may truly be screwed here. Years of work would quickly be unraveled right this moment. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and hoped, prayed, that something, _anything_ would move.

Finally, after a minute of internal struggle, something gave. He was able to move his toes, one by one. Then he felt able to move everything else; his arms, his legs, his head, everything was coming back.

Though he had been breathing fine this whole time, Sam couldn't help but gasp for air and quickly sit up, his head narrowly missing a collision with Montenegro's. He placed a hand over his chest, right over his heart. His heart was beating at what was certainly a dangerous rate and he had a lot of trouble breathing, practically on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Fuck, Samuel! What is going on with you?" Much to Sam's surprise, Montenegro's voice was dripping with concern and slight panic, not the anger he was expecting.

"I don't...I can't." Sam panted, shaking his head. He felt safe to assume, that whatever Montenegro gave him actually and briefly killed him and he spent however long he was dead in hell. There was no way all of that was a dream.

"Easy, amigo. Just take it easy. Here," Montenegro opened up a water bottle he had been carrying and guided it to Sam's mouth. "Here, drink this. You need fluids in your system."

Sam grabbed the bottle and took a few experimental sips before he deemed it safe and promptly chugged it down.

"Fucking hell, Samuel. Getting water like that isn't easy. Learn to conserve!"

Sam chuckled and shook his head. Always the comedian.

After a few more minutes, his heart rate was finally calming down and had proper control of his breathing.

"Are you alright now?"

"I think so." Sam cautiously responded. He looked around his cell. Everything looked normal. The guard hasn't melted or transformed into some grotesque thing and there were no devious shadows lurking around, or Citra for that matter.

"What's with the paranoia, Samuel?"

Sam shook his head. After everything he's seen and been through, he wasn't exactly sure he was back in reality. _His_ reality.

"How do I know this isn't another dream or whatever?" Sam asked.

"Come again?"

"You said that medicine was going to make me trip balls. Well, I need to know if I'm still tripping, so to speak."

Montenegro nodded, finally understanding. "I can help with that. Lay back."

Sam stared skeptically at him but followed the instruction. Montenegro moved to straddle him, sitting on Sam's stomach.

"What are you-"

Montenegro placed a finger on Sam's lips, silencing him. "Your world is on a diagonal, let me be your balancing point."

He smiled warmly and Sam couldn't be any more frightened by the sight. _This has to be another dream...he's really Citra! Has to be..._

Then next thing Sam knew, he had hands wrapped tightly around his neck. He fought back as best he could but because Montenegro had straddled him, it prevented any significant movement. He fought valiantly but his strength was quickly diminishing. Spots danced in his vision then the edges started to darken. Before he was completely out, the grip on his neck was immediately loosened. And for the second time today, a new record, Sam was once again gasping and coughing for breath and life.

"What was that for?!" Sam exclaimed, rubbing his neck.

"You can't die in your dreams, amigo. Had this been a dream, you would have woken up, no?"

Sam gaped then sighed. "Fair enough, I guess."

Montenegro shrugged and smiled. "The good news is your fever has broken considerably and most, if not all, of that medication has left your system. You're out of the woods now, just a little more sleep should do you fine."

Sam exhaled a sigh of relief. If he was getting better, he wouldn't need another dosage of whatever that concoction was.

Though there was still something that bothered him. Something that remained at the forefront of his mind that he even remembered it almost instantly upon waking up.

"Wait, before you go. I need to ask you something."

Montenegro stopped and turned around. "Yes?

"Nathan...he was never here, was he?" Sam asked tentatively.

"Unfortunately not, Samuel. You weren't exactly coherent when I gave you the medicine last night. Whatever odd thing you heard or said was likely due to your high fever."

 _Nah, it can't be that simple. It never is._ Sam couldn't hold back the smile that took over his face. "Well I remember someone calling me brother. If it wasn't Nathan, then...you?"

"You're sick, Samuel. Get some sleep." Montenegro responded angrily. He roughly opened the cell door, slammed it shut and left.

Sam chuckled to himself. "Whatever you say...hermano."

* * *

 _I had this story completely written out and queued up, but this chapter in particular wasn't written out before hand. Including this one, I have added two more chapters, so now I have this story capped at 12 instead of the initial 10. The joys of writing fan fiction XD_

 _Suspension of disbelief: I know you don't usually or can't dream when you take some form of sleeping medication so I hope you can forgive me here :3_

 _I hope you're all enjoying this story. Thanks for taking the time to read and please leave a review =)_


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